


Where We Go

by a_nonny_moose



Series: Who Killed Markiplier Relevant [1]
Category: Markiplier Egos
Genre: Who Killed Markiplier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 05:34:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14826300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_nonny_moose/pseuds/a_nonny_moose
Summary: A song!fic for Where We Go by P!nk, requested by an Anon on Tumblr!





	Where We Go

_Got a hole in my head_ and my heart tonight  
Well you shot me down, you just ain’t right  
Comes a time when you know you must let go  
I know, I know

* * *

He’s not sure what happened, but there’s a broken bottle on the floor and a smoking gun in his hand. William reaches forward, but Mark—Markiplier—his _friend_ —slumps back. He’s smiling, and William has had just a tad too much whiskey. 

“Mark, all is forgiven, eh?”

Mark’s eyes are glassy, and blood is streaming from his forehead. It’s trickling down his face, staining the whiteness of the cravat wrapped close around his throat. William is too engrossed to notice the bruises. The bullet wound, like a third eye, steams in the cool of the basement. His aim has always been a little off, ever so slightly to the right. The wall behind Mark is splattered, the back half of his head a mushy pulp. Blood, blood everywhere. But Mark is smiling. 

“Oh, bully, you’ve never been much of a talker.” 

William stands, and something crunches under his boots. Is it broken glass, or a piece of Mark’s skull? He staggers, the world swimming, and looks down. Mark is still slumped against the wall, unmoving, and the blood is starting to form a puddle around him. But he’s smiling. 

“See you in the morning, then, old friend.” 

William pats Mark’s shoulder as he passes, and Mark falls forward, face-first into the floor. The smell of blood is stronger, now, wafting up the stairs. It sticks to William’s hair, his mustache. He smells nothing but blood and whiskey on his own breath as he laughs, stumbling to his own room. Or is it Mark’s room? He can’t quite tell anymore. After the war, when they were kids—no, before the war, when he came home—no, that wasn’t right either. William doesn’t bother to take his shoes off, and sighs into a pillow. And he smiles. 

* * *

_This world, we know_  
It takes our bodies, not our souls  
It takes us high and leaves us low  
But they honestly never imagined we’d get this far

* * *

He’s not sure what happened, but there’s a body on the floor and a suffocating darkness all around him. Damien reaches forward, but there’s nothing. The world is tinted blue. Another moment, and he sees something shimmering in the blackness. Celine, red, and breathing heavy. Damien reaches for her: an explanation, an apology. She shakes her head, and looks outward.

Damien can see, now, and he and Celine follow. They’re still in the house—of course, they’re still in the house. The DA, his friend, wanders the halls. Lost. Celine whispers to them. “Help.” Damien reaches through the smoke, through death itself, and guides them. If nothing else, they must understand.

And William is there, sudden, and Damien reaches out to him, too. William moves too quickly, too quickly, and not even Celine can stop him. 

“He took them from me. He took Celine. He took Damien.”

Too late, Damien realizes, and he reaches out to stop William. Something, stronger, older, pulls him back. The DA reaches out, a hand on William’s arm, and tries to stop him. And all Damien can do is watch.

There’s a gunshot, and the DA stumbles back. Damien rushes forward, desperate to catch them, but they fall. They fall, fall, fall through the banister and into the floor and into something much bigger than themselves. 

As their spine cracks, as Will swears, _it was an accident_ , Damien feels something. He watches, watches, as the DA appears before him. Celine, a smile and outstretched hands. Damien sees his own hands move, hears his mouth promise. “Just… let me in. We can fix this. Together.” He didn’t mean it. _He didn’t mean it_.

When Damien opens his eyes again, he’s staring at Will. Celine is there, left brain to his right. He—no, she—no, _they_ —look left, then right. Will is still standing there, hours later, and he’s been waiting for them.

“I thought you were dead.”

Damien reaches forward with unfamiliar hands, his soul driving another body. But Celine pulls him back, pity, and a deep sadness. _Watch_.

“I mean, of course you’re not dead—you’re not—how could you be dead? I wouldn’t have killed you, I didn’t kill you, I—”

Damien hesitates, and Will begins to laugh.

“Of course! It was all a _joke_!”

Will stumbles away, and Celine reaches for Damien’s cane. They’re trapped in the DA’s skull, and Damien pushes the DA away. A friend, once. Now, a liability. They stare back, from the other side of the mirror, and Damien looks away. 

They weren’t pushed out to be saved.

Will comes running back, and he’s smiling.

* * *

_As we contemplate goodbye  
I don’t know, we don’t know, where we go_


End file.
